


Dead Or Alive

by boyar



Category: Hannibal (TV), hannigram - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 18:04:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4755965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyar/pseuds/boyar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes places after season three. Hannibal survives, Will doesn't. Hannibal spends most of his time in his memory palace with Will. Inspired by x , my tumblr is madsdancy.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There definitely will be a second chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will be another chapter!

Hannibal remembers the fall, and every single moment of his life before with Will. Right now, all he can seem to remember besides that is the hit of the water, the cold, the blood, then nothing. He awakens to lights and it feels like it’s been years since he has been alive. Once he is able to make out the figures in front of him, he sees the walls and immediately understands he is back in his cell, hospital bed and all. Next is the breathing, and it’s all he can feel. The nurse comes in and notices his eyes are opening, she tries to speak to him but he can’t make out the words, they’re aren’t important, anyway.

“Alana,” he breathes. “Or Jack.” He closes his eyes, trying to ripple away the pain, he’s willing to wait. It seems like hours go by before he hears the doors across from his glass wall open. It gave him enough time to come to, enough time to understand voices, words, and be able to respond well enough.

“Hannibal.” 

It’s Alana’s voice. Hannibal is trying to collect himself. 

“I suppose Jack and I didn’t truly believe in Francis Dolarhyde’s... capabilities.” She spoke, her high heels were click clacking toward the glass. Hannibal focused his eyes down toward Alana.

“Will.” He almost cut her off. Alana, thinking this was rude, diverted from the subject and continued on.

“Francis Dolarhyde is dead, and in turn, you have received your bed and toilet.” Her head sloped sideways at him, she was not in the mood for drugged up in pain Hannibal. “Your books are being-”

“Where is Will.” He tried to yell, it wasn’t really working and Alana was finished with this conversation. Hannibal didn’t hear from her for months, even upon constant request. In turn, he spent most of his time drawing and writing his feelings out about it. He would draw images of Will--things he had imagined Will to be doing. He is blatantly ignoring the facts and even more so his subconscious, he won’t come to terms with anything. He spent the next eight months drawing and writing only about Will Graham.

He was in his memory palace, with Will, in Will’s home in Wolftrap. They had just got done having dinner, and were having a glass of wine to settle in Will’s living room. Will had spent a while trying to light the fire just for the hell of it, and Hannibal appreciated the fun side of him. It has always been there, but Hannibal brought it to life every time he brought them back together in his head. They touch up on everything Will never wanted to talk about, and everything Hannibal never wanted to talk about. Sometimes he would imagine Will to be his therapist, when he was missing him most, and they would talk about it.  
“Have you still been drawing me?” Will questioned, sitting across from Hannibal in Will’s living room. It wasn’t the ideal setting for Hannibal, he would rather do this in his office most times, but he wanted this imaginary Will to be comfortable. Hannibal’s cheeks tugged into a small smirk, he was looking into the fire.

“Yes.” He paused, “I still draw you. I draw you in your home, I draw your dogs. I know you enjoy your home, I know you enjoy your dogs.” He reconnected eyes with Will, who was smirking along with it all, nodding.

“That I do. I enjoy it most because I get to be alone here, just like I used to.” This made Hannibal smile, a silly smile, none that the real Will Graham had ever seen. They settled down for a moment, and Will took a drink from his glass, then twisted the glass in his hand.

“Do you draw me in the water?” Hannibal seemed like he was focused on Will’s chest, but he was the opposite of focused. It was his own fantasy, yet this imitation of Will Graham seemed to be taking over, just like the real one would have. Hannibal suddenly felt a strong pain in his head, as if someone was poking at his brain, his only reaction was a twitch of pain in the face. Will turned his head, his brows were pressed together. He could feel something had just happened, he is inside of this mans head, after all.

“Hannibal,” Will took a breath as Hannibal was coming back. “Are you trying to avoid this subject?” Hannibal locked eyes with Will yet again, feeling strong in the head.

“I haven't in a while, but I have.” Hannibal swallowed this down with the rest of his wine, smiling through. Will sat in silence for a moment, with a look of humorous disbelief on his face. 

“Well then, good. I assume I can expect you over again tomorrow night?” 

“Of course.”

“And will I be cooking for once?” Will asked, and Hannibal was in love with the thought of it.

“I will come over early tomorrow, and we can cook together. How’s that? I would love to supply the meat.” Hannibal responded, and Will laughed, nodding in agreement. 

“Goodnight, Hannibal.” Will finally spoke after a moment of silence, a moment of smiles being exchanged. 

Hannibal’s eyes opened, and he was lying on the bed in his cell. It was cold, but he wasn’t even paying mind to it, he drifted off after a while, he had plans tomorrow and didn’t want to be tired. 

“Hannibal.” His eyes opened, it was Alana’s voice. He got out of bed calmly, and walked toward his glass wall facing her. He held his hands behind his back, confronting her. 

“How have you been?” She asked. Hannibal expected her to have a shit eating grin on her face, expected her to finally come throw Will and his new life in his face, again. But her face was serious, and it was unsettling, and Hannibal didn’t reply; his face was begging. He needs to know, he needs to fucking know, and Alana can tell. Hannibal has been waiting almost nine months for her to come here and give him answers, bad or good or not. This will decide his fate. With the lack of response, Alana can tell she isn’t going to be able to break the ice in any way shape or form even though the awkwardness would kill her, so she jumps into it.

“We found Will.” Her words are fire from her fucking mouth, and it burns. Hannibal’s face doesn’t change, and that worries Alana. She almost feels scared to continue, but then remembers where she is ad where he is, so she continues. “Seven months ago.” Inside Hannibal is raging, inside Hannibal is no longer human. Inside Hannibal is nothing like The Great Red Dragon, it’s not greater or better, it’s of its own kind, and it’s capable of killing everyone in this god damn prison within the blink of an eye. His face is unchanged, in fact, he raises an eyebrow.

“You’ve kept me out of the loop, Alana.” 

“We’ve all been mourning the death of Will Graham. He had a family. We have been giving them time to heal. I was not obligated to tell you at all. I am here because your therapist has asked me to come and tell you, she says she has been telling you for months. I was starting to think that you had not been paying attention to her.” Alana had locked eyes with Hannibal at this point. “Have you?” Hannibal micro-smirked.

“It must have slipped my mind.” Hannibal was only slightly shocked that he does not remember a therapist. They speak every Wednesday, his calendar reminds him; Hannibal suddenly can’t wait to re-meet her. 

“It must have.” Alana returned. “They found his body on the rocks a few miles away from where you had fell. A little boy and his father were out fishing when they found him.” Hannibal’s face started twitching at every detail, and Alana decided this was no longer worth her time. She was only planting things in Hannibal’s head that she did not want anyone to have to deal with the repercussions for. 

“I have to go, hopefully we won’t have to meet again. Goodbye, Hannibal.” Just like that women had came, she was gone. Hannibal had a moment to himself to think. Inside of him was grumbling from reality and what had been waiting for this moment for years but he couldn’t think of it right now. He collected himself, checked his calendar and wasn’t happy to see that it was Wednesday. He was suddenly to awake. For the past eight months he had no clue he had a therapist; Will was his therapist. Will was his contact, his companion. He was not ready to re-meet this women with what he was feeling inside of him. He sat down for a while and collected himself, twiddling in his fingers his pen. Before long, the woman had walked in. 

“Hello, Hannibal.” He heard, and he started sifting through paperwork. He could not remember this woman’s name, he should have it on a document somewhere, he normally has a sheet of everyone who comes in and out of his room. She sits down, placing her bag down beside her and crossing her legs.

“Hello.” Hannibal responds, picking up a journal. He’s being dreadfully rude, he knows, but he is starting his own investigation. He wants to get this over with so he can get to his dinner. 

“I saw Alana Bloom as I was on my way in today,” The woman said across the room. “She must have been here to speak with you.” This woman was young, Hannibal could see. She had shorter blond hair and piercing blue eyes, like Will. When Hannibal was regaining only bits and pieces of memories with her, this is what he remembers, aspects of this woman that reminded him of Will. 

“Yes,” Hannibal said through the page flipping, preoccupied. “She informed me of Will’s death.” He sighed out, “Again, apparently.” 

“You don’t remember us talking about it, then?”

“I must admit that I don’t.” Hannibal was done looking through his things, he had given up, and he had made it known to her.

“Well, what do you remember?” She asked wholeheartedly, but Hannibal didn’t answer, so she pushed. “Do you remember me? Do you know who I am?” Hannibal didn’t answer for a moment, and his face had gone stale.

"You're my therapist."

"Yes, Hannibal, I am. But what is my name?" She continued to push and pull at him, and Hannibal could feel it physically. Truth is, he didn't remember shit about this woman besides her eyes, and that was ludicrous. Hannibal crossed his fingers across his desk at her, and that was a shrug to him. She sighed in return, she felt defeated, although Hannibal never responded much during their sessions besides small facial twitches and hand gestures, she thought she had at least been scratching the surface. She felt wronged by the fact that Hannibal had never been there, she thought he had at least been there through some of it, but to have been there through none of it? It was at the very least, disappointing. She felt finished for the day.

"Alright. Well, my name is Henny, and I have something for you. Alana had these in a box somewhere, from a few months ago, she had them removed from your room." She placed them in Hannibal's two way box after grabbing them from her bag. "I haven't been here for even ten minutes yet, but we'll have to continue this next week. Have a good rest of your week, Hannibal." And she left. Hannibal watched her go, continued twiddling for a while, then finally got up to explore what was in the box. It was Hannibal's paintings. They were all of Will in the water, they were all of Will that night, covered in blood; everything Hannibal adored of Will all fit into one night. He took them to his desk and studied them for a prolonged period of time, then started questioning himself. Why were these all in paint, in color, while the rest are in pencil, black and white and in betweens? He started sifting through every single piece of art work he had created in that cell, and found none in paint. He only drew the real Will in color. Everything in black and white, was from his memory palace, which was somehow separate from that night. He had a few hours to think before he had to lay down and return to Will, so he took that time and used it wisely to go over everything, that way he could relay it back to Will, they could talk about it.

\--

Hannibal had a very nice well-tailored suit on, and it wasn't his murder suit for once. He had a plate in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other, knocking on Will's door. Will answered, and it was apparent he had taken time to think of his outfit tonight. He wasn't wearing a fancy vest or a jacket, instead just a nice dress shirt and nice slacks, followed by dress shoes. His hair was very in tact, similar to how it was after he had returned to therapy after his time in jail. Hannibal was impressed, and after being invited in, he was welcomed by an unfamiliar smell, and it smelt good; it was Will's cologne. He had some how self supplied himself with something decent this time around, or maybe Hannibal finally took control over this fantasy and put it there for him. They had chatted a bit over some non important things, and then started to get their hands dirty over a glass of wine and some food that needed to be prepared. Hannibal started on the meat, and Will on the vegetables. Their backs were turned to each other, Hannibal was throwing seasonings around like crazy and Will was washing off carrots in the sink. Although Hannibal provided the meat, Will still had control over what was for dinner.

"Tonight we're having carrots and mashed potatoes with this, Hannibal." Will smiled, and he could feel Hannibal's spirit being torn. He had not had a meal like this since he learned how to cook for himself, and he was scared it wouldn't sit well with him, but he was just being over dramatic. He was excited to have a taste of Will's life as it was. 

"I am interested to see how this is going to turn out." Hannibal chuckled to himself, and Will turned to the island that Hannibal was preparing on and started cutting vegetables next to him. Hannibal started cutting the meat into thick chunks, he was focused on not cutting himself. "Alana payed me a visit today." Hannibal said this as if it was so subtle, as if it wasn't a big deal at all. Will played along with a smile on his face.

"Alana." He paused. "And what did she speak to you about?" Hannibal was finished cutting and seasoning, so he turned to Will.

"Alana told me what happened to you, where they found you." Hannibal was no longer smiling, and Will turned to him only to study his face for a moment, then back to his cutting. 

"Henny has been telling you for months, Hannibal." Will shook his head, and started placing the carrots into a pot with water in it. Hannibal's face had changed for the worse, he didn't want to talk about it anymore, he just wanted to enjoy his dinners with Will, he never knew which would be his last. He never knew how much longer imaginary Will would be sticking around and he didn't want to give this experience a sour taste. They finished preparing and eating dinner over lighter conversation, then retired to the back porch to finish their wine together. It was cold, but Will didn't put a jacket on, and Hannibal had retired his at dinner. They sat in the cold, together, sipping wine and watching the dogs run around. This had seemed more like Will's memory palace than Hannibal's, but Hannibal, being selfless for Will, always made him comfortable over himself. Will had already decided to leave Hannibal alone for the night, until he felt Hannibal's eyes burning into the side of his head as he was trying to pay attention to the dogs, ready to whistle if they were to go off. He turns to Hannibal and waits for him to say what is on his mind, and after a while, he does.

"Why didn't you tell me?" It was a simple question but Will could feel the emotions radiating from Hannibal, something he had never experienced before, dead or alive. Will tore at his bottom lip with his teeth and shook his head, looking back out to the dogs.

"We've talked about it before." Will responded, then whistled when the numbers he was seeing were becoming scarce. Hannibal didn't even think of picking an argument, confused enough about his memory already as it is. Hannibal tilted his head and watched as the dogs all came running back to the yard. He finished his wine and twitched, sucking his teeth at all of this. They sat in silence for way too long, Will was swishing his wine around his glass. He didn't want to ask, but it was what Hannibal wanted. "Are you going to kill them?" Will looked over to Hannibal, and Hannibal looked over to Will.

"All of them." He smiled, and after a moment, Will smiled back. Hannibal reached his hand out to Will's, and placed only two fingers inbetween Will's. Will's face had changed, he went from joyful fear to regular fear, and it wasn't because a serial killer was touching him, it was because Hannibal was touching him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has to make a decision between being with the real Will and the imaginary Will.

Will looked at his hand with Hannibal's fingers inside of his own fingers, and Hannibal was squeezing. They weren't holding hands, Hannibal was only capturing two of Will's fingers at this point. Will was afraid and all over uncomfortable, and his face made it known to Hannibal. Out of everything, the killing, manipulation, emotional and physical abuse, Will getting stabbed by Hannibal and Hannibal murdering Abigail, this scared Will the most. This hurt him the most, that they spent so long with one another and they never got to experience the domesticated side of what Hannibal had always wanted but could never put together in time. Will's eyes dragged up to Hannibal's, and Hannibal looked distressed, so Will opened his mouth.

"What happens after?" Will's eyes had focused on Hannibal's, and he could see that they were glossy and glassed over.

"I have to make a decision." Hannibal attempted to smile at Will, but Will could see through all of this bullshit, and anger took over fear.

"I suppose you won't want to live the rest of your life with me just inside your head," Will spoke, his face was twitching as he tilted his head with the motion of it all. He looked out to his dogs. "You would rather be washed up on the rocks with me." Imaginary Will was done with this conversation at this point, he was frustrated and uncomfortable and scared.

"I would."

"What are some of your regrets?" Will asked, but knew he shouldn't have. He was ever prepared for these answers, but it kept Hannibal with him longer. Hannibal left his fingers in Will's during this, he started tapping at them, then drew them away and pushed his hair back into place, looking out into the field.

"I don't regret anything with you. I do wish I had made some better decisions, one being that I doubted your ability to stay away from me." Hannibal winced, "For three years." But Will only shrugged at all of this.

"Wouldn't that fall in line with the feeling of regret, Hannibal?" He faced and kept his eyes on the man, his fingers were missing him more than he was himself. "Besides, I never asked you to go and get yourself arrested. You had hours after our final talk, you could have left again. Instead you stood around in what, my backyard?" Will spat, and with that, he finished his wine, he was ready to retire because he was angry at the decisions Hannibal was going to be making. Hannibal was a man of God and yet somehow was always sinning. Hannibal was appalled at how real this Will had become. He had taken on a mind of his own and there was no going back, this imitation was alive and breathing. Will sighed. "I had to get over you, Hannibal. I had to try." He paused, and placed his wine down on the table beside him on his porch. "Nothing was working. The cliff was our only option." He paused again, and took a breath in, and the tension was being built up. "It's the only way that both sides of me could be with you and with out you." Hannibal's lips moved, he licked them and then looked back over to Will and waited for the eye contact, they locked eyes.

"Now I'm without you." Hannibal breathed, and Will shifted closer to him in his seat.

"I wanted you to die with me." Hannibal's eyes took a tour only to bring this in, then he looked back at Will.

"We will die together." And just like that, it sunk in for Will. Hannibal had decided their fate yet again, now the clock would just continue ticking and ticking and ticking, but he wasn't mad.

"Goodnight, Hannibal." Hannibal opened his eyes, and he felt accomplished.

Another month goes by and Hannibal has been busy planning every move. Hannibal has not seen Will since the night they had the conversation about decisions. Hannibal has been waiting around too long, been itching too long, he is still actively forgetting his sessions with Henny especially since they are no use to him. He plans to have Will over tonight, he needs a piece of mind. Tonight, Gideon is served; he has always wanted to share him with Will but never got the chance. Just before dinner is done, Will allows himself into Hannibal's house and even further into his kitchen. He always brings by a bottle of wine, typically one he closes his eyes and chooses at the liquor store, and Hannibal deals with it through the night.

"Welcome, Will. Feel free to retire your jacket by the door, if you would." Hannibal smiled, as he was taking Gideon's leg from the oven and bringing it to the table. When Will returns to the kitchen, Hannibal is waiting for him with wine glasses in hand, and when they meet again, Will leads the way to the dining room and they take a seat. Will pops the bottle open, and Hannibal serves, but they don't say much yet. Will gets his plate together, takes knife and fork in hand and admires what is in front of him.

"This is interesting," Will starts, "I haven't had this type of meal in a while, have I?" Will questions, and Hannibal knows what he means by it, he smiles as he takes his first bite.

"No, not that I know of." Hannibal responds, and Will takes a few bites, a few sips, they relax.

"You've been busy." Will says, and Hannibal damns himself, even when avoiding his memory palace with Will, he forgets that he is in his head. Hannibal nods into his next bite and finishes.

"I have. Have you?" It's not like Hannibal to play these games, turn questions around to divert subjects, but he's changing.

"You think you've been doing this on your own?" Will questions, and Hannibal is thrown off. He has never been able to brush the surface of this side of Will much, but he's always excited to do so.

"Of course not."

"This is our last dinner." Will smiles to Hannibal, it was a question although it was not said in any type of way. Hannibal smiles back to him, which serves as an answer, and they finish their dinner together. When they retire to Hannibal's personal office, Will starts picking up Hannibal's journals. They aren't the ones they burned long ago, these are new. He starts flipping through the papers and he notices the dates. He started in this journal the day he got into his cell the very first time.

"I brought that for you." Hannibal spoke through Will's voice inside his head, reading; Hannibal noticed Will had skipped further.

"You're still trying to reverse time." Will grinned at the pages under his fingers, "To this day. I don't think it's hypothetical anymore."

"It never was," Hannibal paused to lean his butt on the desk, next to Will as he watched him flip. "I wanted to bring you back, in more ways than just one." When Will was done reading, he looked over.

"Are you done trying to bring me back?" His eyes twitched, and he squinted at Hannibal, who looked back at him for a moment then looked away.

"Finding you will be less thought provoking, Will." Hannibal couldn't look at Will, and Will could only wince. He placed the journal down and moved on to the drawings; the ones that caught his eye the most were of him in the river with his rod. The water was drawn so clearly, and when his face was drawn, smiling, it was so precise. There were two pictures that weren't complete, Will was turned away in one; he was in the shower. Will's face had taken over it's own thought, but it couldn't decide between angry or embarrassed.

"You drew me in the shower?" He looked at Hannibal again, and Hannibal took the picture from his hand as it was offered, admiring it.

"This was drawn long before you parted." Hannibal smiled up at Will as if he was a cat bringing a reward to the door. When he looked back at Will, he was drawn back. "I didn't draw all of it, Will." Hannibal was trying to defend himself, but Will was disgusted by the lack of privacy. There wasn't much he could do about it, he didn't think hr could hurt Hannibal in a fantasy land, so he let it go. He found another picture of him sleeping, there was someone in bed with him, but you couldn't make it out, so he assumed.

"Molly and I?" He asked, showing Hannibal the drawing. Hannibal puckered his lips out in attempt to hide a smile.

"Yes. I've never seen her, so I can't draw her face. I would like to think she is beautiful, but I can't assume anything in my work."

"She is." Will smiled and nodded, he placed the drawing down on the desk, hands in pockets, he continued to admire it. It's detailed to the point of terrifying, you would almost believe that Hannibal was in the room, but he couldn't have been. Will never got the chance to poke at Hannibal's brain about Bedelia, so when he was done, he turned to him and demanded eye contact, and Hannibal gave it to him willingly. "Bedelia was not very fond of you after your trip together, you know."

"Bedelia always believed in putting her opinion in where it was most not needed." Hannibal studied Will's face, and his eyes were glossy.

"Even being not fond of you, or scared of you.." Will took a breath, his eyes were glass. "She told me that you were in love with me, for some reason I was surprised." Will crossed his arms and leaned against the desk along with Hannibal. "That strongly influenced my decision to take you over the edge with me." Hannibal wasn't shocked to hear that Will knew this, or talked about it. He was sure it was on his mind, even that night. Whether or not they survived was not an aspect of what Will was thinking, he would find a way to bring it up in one world or another.

"I can see why it would."

"It's strange to know you felt this way for so long, enough to draw me in the shower, sleeping.. Who knows what else we could dig up." He said this and looked out to the rest of the office, as if he wanted to start digging right now, then his eyes were squinting again. "Were we going to run off together if we survived?" Hannibal focused on Will's arms, they were flexing as they were folded as if he was pressing his fists. Will looked back over, and Hannibal nodded.

"I would have liked to. We could have gone to Spain. But we will end up running off together." Hannibal stood, and faced Will completely. He took a step closer, and Will looked at the movements, he wasn't confused but he wasn't ready, either. "In to the arms of death." Will drug his eyes from Hannibal's clothes to his own eyes, and it was hard for them to stay there, they ran along every side of his face. All Will knew about what was inside of Hannibal, is that he didn't want Hannibal to go. He did not mean to die, and he did not mean to leave Hannibal behind, it just wasn't in his nature. Will left that world because he knew they needed to be put out, but they needed to be together as they did it. Will wanted to be together as they did it. Will could never completely understand this man, as it has been said by others several times, but there was another side of him that he only showed to Will; that was what he couldn't grasp, in life or in memory. When Will had finally learned after all these years that Hannibal was in love with him, it was intoxicating, and terrifying. Will finally came to terms with the fact that Hannibal was never going to leave him alone, especially with this new bit of information. This influenced Will enough, he took it to his grave, literally.

It wasn't until Hannibal placed his hand around Will's neck and squeezed that he finally understood this man. The look in his eye was a whole new chapter of him, and it happened to be the last. Will, keeping eye contact, leaned his head back and let out a long breath, he felt his back moving forward and his hips moving backward. Will eyes went dead, he was looking at Hannibal as if he was a beaten down housewife; as if they've gone through this thousands of times, this was just another night of abuse and Hannibal was in love with him. When Hannibal could feel the pulse under his finger tips is when he lost it, Will tried to speak through.

"I am so riddled with regret," He laughed out nervously and his voice was hoarse, it was holding everything back including tears which Hannibal fed in to. "Mostly because you didn't die with me."

"I did die with you." Hannibal's eyes were soft but cold as if he was sensing something, but Will was only thinking that Bedelia was right; can't live with him, can't live without him and it played fairly on both sides. Hannibal was no longer a man, nor a monster in a person suit. He was nothing without Will, and Will could see it in the flashes between the memory of Hannibal and the reality of him.

"Could you have died without me?" Will questioned, but there was no need for an answer, Will was focused on Hannibal's lips especially since Hannibal finally placed them on his own. It was sudden, but Hannibal was kissing him, real or fucking fake, it was what he needed. Will, crying through it all, kissed Hannibal like he knew the real Will would have; awkward and yearning. Hannibal used the hand around Will's neck to bring him closer, to prove something to him. Will used the knife in his hand from dinner to slit Hannibal's throat. In his memory palace, Hannibal felt no pain and continued with his lips on Will's. He moved his head to get a better grip between their lips, and pulled away when he felt the blood ruining his shirt. Will's eyes had softened more, he placed his open hand on Hannibal's arm, pressing it harder to his neck almost as if to say 'I'm here, I'm real.' But it was over. Hannibal decided to have Will end his life just like he had wanted. Will's eyes were reciprocating certain types of feelings that Hannibal did not confront himself.

"He isn't going to be alone anymore," He was crying, but Hannibal was listening. "He's been waiting for you alongside death, just as he has always been." Hannibal's hand around Will's neck was knocked loose when the blood got inbetween. He started to close his eyes, he focused on the pulse underneath his finger tips and the warm voice in his head. "You'll always wade into the quiet of the stream, together. Goodnight, Hannibal."

Hannibal died long before all of this, he died with Will Graham in one way or another. Hannibal Lecter was found physically dead in his cell, scalpel in his hand from an unbeknownst source, at the age of 49. In the real world, he slit his own throat and ended it himself, but we all know the truth. Will Graham had finished what he had started, and there wasn't a single fucking person left to witness it. Chiyoh had killed Jack Crawford, Freddie Lounds, Frederick Chilton, Bedelia du Maurier along with Alana and Margot Bloom all underneath the hand of Hannibal. He killed them all, real or fake, he kept his promises to everyone especially Will. He played this over in his head as to not forget a single detail, he took it to his grave, he took it to Will who was waiting for him and he didn't care to be late.


End file.
